Yipeee! I didn’t think I’d do it, but I did. I ended up exercising at the gym 4 x this week, and took 1 pilates class for about an hour a pop.
I got Kevin’s help to wake up early. I’ve never tried working out first thing in the morning before because waking up early usually causes me to want to punch people and I’m pretty sure my gym has a no punch policy. At least I hope it does.
But after I dragged myself out of bed (aided by the promise of imminent percolations of my coffeemaker) I really liked feeling like I was one of the only few awake in the world.
True to my word, I didn’t work myself like a demon possessed to make up for all that missed time, I actually took it pretty easy. On the efforting scale of 1-10 I’d say I stayed in the 5-7 category, to ease my way back in. And I liked it so much I think I will stay there for as long as I want. There’s really no need to flagellate myself with exercise as punishment.
And I swear, I am not just kidding myself here, but my muscle tone is returning pretty quickly. I thought all hope was lost, that all the work I’d done on my arms was as good as gone and that I wouldn’t see the outlines of muscles again until September. But, I already see some definition between the bicep and tricep. That was a huge relief. I guess I thought it would be like starting at 315 pounds again and the more I thought about going back to where my fitness level started, the less I felt like doing that again.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
The end of the leash
On Thursday I was walking Runkie on Gorge. I was wearing cute Bermuda shorts from LB and a top from Pennington’s MXM line. {Normally, their tops are too long or too short. When they’re too long (tunic style) it looks like I’m wearing a cape to hide my stomach rolls. When they’re too short (because they’re cheap shit and they shrink like nothing I have ever seen before except Old Navy) they squeeze across my stomach and hit at the just the right height to show off the unavoidable flaring out of loose fabric at my crotch- not quite a camel toe, more like it’s slouchy cousin.} I had on my cute and super comfy aerosoles. And my hair was sassy. I felt hot.
And then the old guy with the stick started waving and smiling at us. I’m not sure if he’s homeless or just weird. He does have a shopping cart filled with things, but he also has the air of someone who is looked after a little bit…. Hard to say. He has waved at us before. Runkie doesn’t like him because he taps his metal stick on the ground a lot, so I generally avoid him. But I was feeling generous so I stopped for a minute to spend some quality time with the peeps in my hood.
I don’t know, maybe it’s because of my mother, or society in general, but I am hardwired to be uber polite. So when he started speaking rapidly in Mandarin or Cantonese I just kept smiling politely and murmured, “I’m sorry I don’t… I’m sorry I don’t speak Chinese….” I figured he just had to say what he had to say and it would only take a second or two and he’s homeless (maybe) and he’s harmless (maybe) and what does it matter if I stand there for a couple of seconds and listen to him talk in Chinese, anyway?
But he didn’t stop. And he got more agitated. And rather than walking away and thinking “Whatevah” I progressed to full on I don’t understand you gesticulation. And then he started to point to his thighs, indicating bigness. And then to his stomach, indicating bigness. And then to my thighs and my stomach, indicating bigness. He said something about my feet or my shoes (not sure which). And I got so flustered I stood there for the longest two minutes of my life while he pointed at his thighs and then my thighs, his stomach and then my stomach, and inexplicably, my feet.
And as he did so, he seemed crazier and crazier and for some bizarre reason, as much as I wanted to go, I was rooted there because this voice in my head kept sing-songing, “Is he saying I’m fat! Oh my god he thinks I’m fat! Oh my god! I must look so horrible, so fat, he feels the need to stop me in the street and tell me I’m fat... in Chinese!”
Finally, sense kicked in and I snapped to attention and realized I was standing there letting him insult me (I think, maybe he was just trying to tell me I look like a white version of Beyonce with my juicy thighs and that my shoes are really cute). I gave Runkie the lets get the hell out of here snap of the leash and the dog was off like a shot; though not before pausing to look at me like I was an idiot for stopping in the first place.
It’s really scary when your dog has better people sense than you do.
And then the old guy with the stick started waving and smiling at us. I’m not sure if he’s homeless or just weird. He does have a shopping cart filled with things, but he also has the air of someone who is looked after a little bit…. Hard to say. He has waved at us before. Runkie doesn’t like him because he taps his metal stick on the ground a lot, so I generally avoid him. But I was feeling generous so I stopped for a minute to spend some quality time with the peeps in my hood.
I don’t know, maybe it’s because of my mother, or society in general, but I am hardwired to be uber polite. So when he started speaking rapidly in Mandarin or Cantonese I just kept smiling politely and murmured, “I’m sorry I don’t… I’m sorry I don’t speak Chinese….” I figured he just had to say what he had to say and it would only take a second or two and he’s homeless (maybe) and he’s harmless (maybe) and what does it matter if I stand there for a couple of seconds and listen to him talk in Chinese, anyway?
But he didn’t stop. And he got more agitated. And rather than walking away and thinking “Whatevah” I progressed to full on I don’t understand you gesticulation. And then he started to point to his thighs, indicating bigness. And then to his stomach, indicating bigness. And then to my thighs and my stomach, indicating bigness. He said something about my feet or my shoes (not sure which). And I got so flustered I stood there for the longest two minutes of my life while he pointed at his thighs and then my thighs, his stomach and then my stomach, and inexplicably, my feet.
And as he did so, he seemed crazier and crazier and for some bizarre reason, as much as I wanted to go, I was rooted there because this voice in my head kept sing-songing, “Is he saying I’m fat! Oh my god he thinks I’m fat! Oh my god! I must look so horrible, so fat, he feels the need to stop me in the street and tell me I’m fat... in Chinese!”
Finally, sense kicked in and I snapped to attention and realized I was standing there letting him insult me (I think, maybe he was just trying to tell me I look like a white version of Beyonce with my juicy thighs and that my shoes are really cute). I gave Runkie the lets get the hell out of here snap of the leash and the dog was off like a shot; though not before pausing to look at me like I was an idiot for stopping in the first place.
It’s really scary when your dog has better people sense than you do.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Glad Tidings
This blog has been a wee bit depressing of late.
First there was my job related angst. Then I blathered on about my rebellion against exercising and the guilt trip I was on because I couldn't/wouldn't get myself to the gym. I even managed to dig up some shame and talk about eating.
And now I am going to reverse the trend.
First up is the almost 1 year holiday of losing 40+ lbs. Granted I haven't lost anymore weight since October, but, I haven't gained any of the weight I started losing last July, either. Well, I was down to 263 and am now back at 268- but those heady days at 263 were few and far between anyway. With hindsight, I can now see that I hit a pleteau in October/November- and that all I really needed to do was to take a break without guilt. (Of course that makes it sound so easy, when really, it wasn't and I did take a break, but the guilt part just kind of happened). So if I cut out all of my "shoulds" and really look at the past year I lost 40 lbs and maintained that loss. Period. That's an accomplishment.
Second, I got back into counselling. I realized I was slipping into depression (or rather had slipped into depression) and that I needed an objective third party to help me out.
Third, I started to budget my money more carefully. There have been ups and downs aplenty. But I have been putting about $200.00 bucks a month into savings/investments accounts for about a year. So that's really good!
Fourth, I am gradually getting over the need to not work out. And I am also clear headed enough to see that doing it to lose weight isn't enough of a motivation to go three times, let alone five times a week. I am also clear headed enough to admit that I like exercise, I like the comfort in it, the sense of accomplishment and the overall feeling of wellbeing it produces. But, when I turn the focus to weight loss I just start to not care, I start to resent the commitment and the time and the effort and the whole kitandkaboodle. But if I do it for another reason, it brings back the joy and excitement and freshness of exercise. I just need to shut out the Boot KKKamp instuctors in my head and do it for reasons that would really burn them up like:
First there was my job related angst. Then I blathered on about my rebellion against exercising and the guilt trip I was on because I couldn't/wouldn't get myself to the gym. I even managed to dig up some shame and talk about eating.
And now I am going to reverse the trend.
First up is the almost 1 year holiday of losing 40+ lbs. Granted I haven't lost anymore weight since October, but, I haven't gained any of the weight I started losing last July, either. Well, I was down to 263 and am now back at 268- but those heady days at 263 were few and far between anyway. With hindsight, I can now see that I hit a pleteau in October/November- and that all I really needed to do was to take a break without guilt. (Of course that makes it sound so easy, when really, it wasn't and I did take a break, but the guilt part just kind of happened). So if I cut out all of my "shoulds" and really look at the past year I lost 40 lbs and maintained that loss. Period. That's an accomplishment.
Second, I got back into counselling. I realized I was slipping into depression (or rather had slipped into depression) and that I needed an objective third party to help me out.
Third, I started to budget my money more carefully. There have been ups and downs aplenty. But I have been putting about $200.00 bucks a month into savings/investments accounts for about a year. So that's really good!
Fourth, I am gradually getting over the need to not work out. And I am also clear headed enough to see that doing it to lose weight isn't enough of a motivation to go three times, let alone five times a week. I am also clear headed enough to admit that I like exercise, I like the comfort in it, the sense of accomplishment and the overall feeling of wellbeing it produces. But, when I turn the focus to weight loss I just start to not care, I start to resent the commitment and the time and the effort and the whole kitandkaboodle. But if I do it for another reason, it brings back the joy and excitement and freshness of exercise. I just need to shut out the Boot KKKamp instuctors in my head and do it for reasons that would really burn them up like:
- It helps me sleep really soundly
- It helps me feel strong and capable
- It helps me feel centred and on track- like I have a schedule and it's worth sticking to (I guess I like being highly regimented....)
- It helps me feel long and loose
- It helps me get out all my shitty feelings
- It helps me try new things
- It helps me feel pretty
- It helps me feel like I'm part of the world- not just living in my head
- It helps me feel safe- I can take care of myself
- It helps me feel better physically- my feet feel better, my neck and shoulders feel soooo much better.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Solution Oriented
I think I may have a solution to my puzzling exercise conundrum, or at the very least I've decided to completely ignore the boot kkkampers....
I will wake up 5 days a week and get to the gym. 3x a week strength training. 2 times a week core and cardio. Pilates on Wednesday in the evening and walks or bike rides whenever.
Of course I figured this out last weekend and have yet to get myself up early enough to do it.
But I will turn off that negative voice in my head, the one that's saying I'm not a morning person and exercising at 6 am is doomed to fail, and I will just try.
I will try to try.
I will wake up 5 days a week and get to the gym. 3x a week strength training. 2 times a week core and cardio. Pilates on Wednesday in the evening and walks or bike rides whenever.
Of course I figured this out last weekend and have yet to get myself up early enough to do it.
But I will turn off that negative voice in my head, the one that's saying I'm not a morning person and exercising at 6 am is doomed to fail, and I will just try.
I will try to try.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Shame on Me
I feel ashamed when I eat.
Even after years of counseling for binge eating.
The shame isn't just when I binge. It's every time I eat. It doens't matter if it's a hard boiled egg or a bag of cookies. The only difference is the amount of shame I feel.
I don’t remember a time when I didn’t feel that way, and it wasn’t until the shame lessemed that I even realized it was always there.
And the shame isn't just limited to eating. A year ago I was driving to work, late. And I was trying to think of an acceptable cover story, something that would be ironclad but also mundane. I kept berating myself for letting it get so late, (10 minutes) and remembering all the times I'd ever been late to anything. But it's not as if I come in late all the time. In fact, I'm pretty punctual. So I pulled up to a light and wondered, what if I didn't lie, what if I just told them the truth or a version of the truth? Shame welled up at the thought of saying I was late because I had to re-wrap my foot correctly because of my plantar fascititis.
My cheeks even flamed red at the thought of admitting I had a physical problem (weakness) and took time to attend to it (selfishness).
I got pissed off.
Why does my life and all my stuff have to be a secret? Kevin is very secretive and he feels so much shame at having needs and wants and desires. And I always get on him for it, but really, I'm no better. I'm worse. Why did it feel like sharing my problem was like stripping open my soul for judgement and criticism?
And that's how I feel around food. I don't like to be the only one eating. I don't like to eat portions that would fill me. I'm ashamed to be so venal and so raw. I'm ashamed at how much food plays a role in my life but when I hear other people they sound as obsessed as me- only happily so. So why should I always feel so ashamed? Why should my appetite be a secret?
Even after years of counseling for binge eating.
The shame isn't just when I binge. It's every time I eat. It doens't matter if it's a hard boiled egg or a bag of cookies. The only difference is the amount of shame I feel.
I don’t remember a time when I didn’t feel that way, and it wasn’t until the shame lessemed that I even realized it was always there.
And the shame isn't just limited to eating. A year ago I was driving to work, late. And I was trying to think of an acceptable cover story, something that would be ironclad but also mundane. I kept berating myself for letting it get so late, (10 minutes) and remembering all the times I'd ever been late to anything. But it's not as if I come in late all the time. In fact, I'm pretty punctual. So I pulled up to a light and wondered, what if I didn't lie, what if I just told them the truth or a version of the truth? Shame welled up at the thought of saying I was late because I had to re-wrap my foot correctly because of my plantar fascititis.
My cheeks even flamed red at the thought of admitting I had a physical problem (weakness) and took time to attend to it (selfishness).
I got pissed off.
Why does my life and all my stuff have to be a secret? Kevin is very secretive and he feels so much shame at having needs and wants and desires. And I always get on him for it, but really, I'm no better. I'm worse. Why did it feel like sharing my problem was like stripping open my soul for judgement and criticism?
And that's how I feel around food. I don't like to be the only one eating. I don't like to eat portions that would fill me. I'm ashamed to be so venal and so raw. I'm ashamed at how much food plays a role in my life but when I hear other people they sound as obsessed as me- only happily so. So why should I always feel so ashamed? Why should my appetite be a secret?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Attack of the Boot KKKamp Instructors
I know what I should do. I should start from scratch. 30 minutes, 3x a week would probably be the best middle ground solution to my problem.Finnito.
But the Boot KKKamp Instructors that live in my head are totally up in arms at the very thought.
All my life I'd been listening to the boot KKKamp Instructor as if it were a perfectly rational part of my psyche. That aspect of my personality is basically my mother, living forever in my head, except she managed to get a certificate for personal fitness training and then split into two distinct personalities: The original Drill Serjeant who's like a mean militray Dad and the Drill Sergeant's tag-along who pretends to be my friend by wheedling me into submission, like a mean, manipulative older sister. Together, they make an awesome tag team.
But the Boot KKKAmp Instructors really don't mean to be so mean. They just want me to have what I think I want (to be thin, to have more options, to be admired) but they just go about it in the most all or nothing fashion imaginable. There's no grey here- unless we're talking about a pair of grey sweat pants. And actually, come to think of it the Boot KKKamp Instructors do not approve of grey sweat pants on me, only black. Because, according to them, if I wear grey we run the risk of looking more fat than usual.
The KKKampers are driving me nuts, refusing to budge. I either work out hard or I don't work out at all. The KKKAmpers don't want to look at the deeper issues at hand: my sadness that I've stopped losing weight, my fatigue of battling something, anything- they just want to keep on fighting the good fight and get my ass into the gym and back into a 2 hour 3 time a week routine.
They think this hunger problem is as simple as just refusing to eat more then I need.
But how do I do that if I feel like a gaping maw of never ending hunger ready to swallow a cat whole when I do what they say?
And how do I that when I know it will only lead to bingeing? The KKKampers hate bingeing, but they hate introspection and compromise even more, apparently.I wish I'd just have some amazing revelation and get this over with already. The solution is so tangible but it's lost on me....
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Muscle Bound Lady
I was walking back from dinner tonight with my fabulous friend Jenn when I realized, I am slightly out of breath!
Strange...
Especially considering I workout 3x a week.
Like last week, I went to th gym on... oh shit, I only went once. And then it sunk in: I haven't been to the gym on a consistent basis in 3 months.
How did this happen?
Well, looking back, it started with getting the bike. I felt defeated by how much hills slayed me and I couldn't seem to legitimately find time to bike and working out at the gym so I thought I'd bike more. Except somehow I never got around to biking during the week, only on weekends.
And then there was the pilates avoidance. I wisely decided to give myself some time away from pilates because Fiona was bugging me.
And then... I don't know. There were parties and drinks and travel for work and drinks and somehow three whole months have gone by with only a handful of sessions at the gym to show for it.
But as much as it just "got away from me" I also know I was doing it on purpose.
When I was working out really hard, (1.5-almost 2 hours 3x a week in the gym) I stopped seeing results. And those more intense workouts left me ravenous. "Rip someone's head off and eat it" kind of ravenous.
I thought that after a couple of months my body would adjust and the intense would abate. But no, I had having a really hard time feeding myself. I would go from a 2 to an 8 on the hunger scale really rapidly- sometimes within in a half hour. And I felt self-conscious, eating at work, all the time and not losing any weight. At first I told myself it didn't matter because I was gaining muscle-- which would translate to weight loss.
But that never happened.
Instead, I was getting more toned, which was great. But I was also bingeing more because there was less room for error with my intense hunger and my low blood sugar swings. Then I would feel guilty for eating so much. And then I would just shrug my shoulders, say fuck it and have more cheese and crackers.
And now that I'm not working out, knock on wood, I don't feel so out of control around food. In fact, I'm in a really good place. There's no angst. It's so nice.
And here's why 3 months have gone by with no consistent exercise... I'm afraid that if I do get back into a routine I'll slip into long workouts again. And then I'll eat more. And then food will take over again and I'll be miserable and obsessed.
I hate being obsessed with food. It is so exhuasting and I can't turn it off. And the irony is I don't even lose weight when I get like that because I'm seesawing between extremes.
So why does that prolonged, extreme hunger happen? Is it physiological, psychological, a combination?
I think it's both. There is a genuine increase in real physical hunger.... and man is it big! Uncomfortably so. It borders on being extremely "unfeminine" and I think I may have some issues around bulking up. I saw that wild hunger as a precurser to being some muscle bound lady freak.... I just couldn't get satisfied. It was so frustrating. And God forbid I missed my afternoon snack, watch out-bitch alert! And then I'd feel guilty for needing so much food so I'd punish myself the best way I know how, by eating something shitty and fattening so I can hate myself even more and then I'd go to the gym and work out for 2 fucking hours and gnash my teeth because the scale hasn't budged in nine months and I'm really fucking hungry and if I don't eat in 20 minutes I'm going to have a headache that will turn into a migraine and why am I able to leg press more than half the men in this gym? Am I a genetic freak who is meant to be big and muscle bound.
Fuck. Must think about this.
Strange...
Especially considering I workout 3x a week.
Like last week, I went to th gym on... oh shit, I only went once. And then it sunk in: I haven't been to the gym on a consistent basis in 3 months.
How did this happen?
Well, looking back, it started with getting the bike. I felt defeated by how much hills slayed me and I couldn't seem to legitimately find time to bike and working out at the gym so I thought I'd bike more. Except somehow I never got around to biking during the week, only on weekends.
And then there was the pilates avoidance. I wisely decided to give myself some time away from pilates because Fiona was bugging me.
And then... I don't know. There were parties and drinks and travel for work and drinks and somehow three whole months have gone by with only a handful of sessions at the gym to show for it.
But as much as it just "got away from me" I also know I was doing it on purpose.
When I was working out really hard, (1.5-almost 2 hours 3x a week in the gym) I stopped seeing results. And those more intense workouts left me ravenous. "Rip someone's head off and eat it" kind of ravenous.
I thought that after a couple of months my body would adjust and the intense would abate. But no, I had having a really hard time feeding myself. I would go from a 2 to an 8 on the hunger scale really rapidly- sometimes within in a half hour. And I felt self-conscious, eating at work, all the time and not losing any weight. At first I told myself it didn't matter because I was gaining muscle-- which would translate to weight loss.
But that never happened.
Instead, I was getting more toned, which was great. But I was also bingeing more because there was less room for error with my intense hunger and my low blood sugar swings. Then I would feel guilty for eating so much. And then I would just shrug my shoulders, say fuck it and have more cheese and crackers.
And now that I'm not working out, knock on wood, I don't feel so out of control around food. In fact, I'm in a really good place. There's no angst. It's so nice.
And here's why 3 months have gone by with no consistent exercise... I'm afraid that if I do get back into a routine I'll slip into long workouts again. And then I'll eat more. And then food will take over again and I'll be miserable and obsessed.
I hate being obsessed with food. It is so exhuasting and I can't turn it off. And the irony is I don't even lose weight when I get like that because I'm seesawing between extremes.
So why does that prolonged, extreme hunger happen? Is it physiological, psychological, a combination?
I think it's both. There is a genuine increase in real physical hunger.... and man is it big! Uncomfortably so. It borders on being extremely "unfeminine" and I think I may have some issues around bulking up. I saw that wild hunger as a precurser to being some muscle bound lady freak.... I just couldn't get satisfied. It was so frustrating. And God forbid I missed my afternoon snack, watch out-bitch alert! And then I'd feel guilty for needing so much food so I'd punish myself the best way I know how, by eating something shitty and fattening so I can hate myself even more and then I'd go to the gym and work out for 2 fucking hours and gnash my teeth because the scale hasn't budged in nine months and I'm really fucking hungry and if I don't eat in 20 minutes I'm going to have a headache that will turn into a migraine and why am I able to leg press more than half the men in this gym? Am I a genetic freak who is meant to be big and muscle bound.
Fuck. Must think about this.
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